


wine bottles and smashed glasses

by Theyoungertwin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (sort of), 36 questions, Angst and Tragedy, Betrayal, Friends to Lovers to Enemies to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Muggle AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Probably., Romance, Slowburn Adoption, Some Fluff, Substance Abuse, Will there be a happy ending?, i think, some self harm referenced and described
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:01:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28119585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theyoungertwin/pseuds/Theyoungertwin
Summary: This is based loosely on the plot of the podcast musical: 36 questions, or more specifically the song: 'A Better Version'"And I heard perfect opportunity to be someone else entirely, free from my history."36 Questions is a story about truth. It’s a story about reality. It’s a story about whether or not love can win in the face of genuine problems in a relationship.Harry Potter falls in love with Aiden Baskerville, a man who seems too good to be true, which, turns out, he is. His name isn't really Aiden, it's Draco. Draco cries to the rain of shattered glass, and Harry leaves to the sound of betrayal.
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy & Theodore Nott & Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Kudos: 21





	1. this now lives in memory

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second fic on this site, and God knows I haven't finished the first one, but I really did want to write this. I'm not expecting it to do particularly well, but who knows!
> 
> I find the story line a little hard to explain, and it would be best for me to leave it at the summary, and for you to just read on! I would also really recommend the musical 36 questions, because its plot is absolutely amazing and all of the songs are beautifully put together and performed!

Harry Potter fell in love with Aidan Baskerville in the summer of 2001, mid July. He knew this specific date because he had written it down, the first time that they had met, then the first time that they had gone out for coffee, which had turned out not to be just a single cup of coffee, it had turned out to be an entire date. This was by no means to say that Harry Potter was a man who believed in love at first sight, for he was quite the opposite. He believed that love had to be proven, that if you loved someone at first sight, then they must be an incredibly attractive.

This had, naturally, changed when he had met Aidan on the fourteenth of July. 

Harry had been out walking Padfoot around St. James' park, because his Godfathers were staying over for a few weeks and had decided to bring their dog along. Padfoot was a huge black retriever, much to his Godfather Sirius' disappointment, for he had wanted some huge shaggy dog to, and he quotes, 'fetch him the souls of the damned.'. His husband Remus had fortunately intervened and threatened divorce if Sirius did get a dog like that and teach it to attack people. 

Harry now found himself profusely wishing that Sirius had won and decided to own some breed of terrifying dog.

He had been seated on a bench, letting the sun and warm breeze tickle his face, letting the other noises fade into the background. It was a warm July, the proper kind of summer that one would fantasize about. 

Lost in thought, he had barely heard someone distant sounding asking to pet his dog. He of course said yes, because, well, what else did you say when someone asked that? He had then decided it would probably be rude if he carried on ignoring whoever this stranger was, and so chanced a glance down at the man who had spoken. 

His heart had almost stopped at how gorgeous the man was, and then, with a rather quick realisation, saw that it was a man who appeared very close in age to Harry himself. He was wearing a white shirt with the first few buttons undone, showing the edges of his pale shoulder blades, and revealing a rather large 'v' of his chest. He looked oblivious to Harry's staring, gently fussing Padfoot and occasionally sweeping back his silky blond hair that fell around his face. Harry decided that something must be done about this, and so, he broke the silence.

"This isn't my dog, actually. He's my Godfather's dog, Padfoot. I'm looking after him while he's staying with me." He blurted out, flushing when the man turned to look at him. Then he started laughing, his face's sharp angles conforming a more friendly image, and Harry laughed too at the bizarreness of the situations. "I don't want to get caught out when I see you for coffee, and I turn up without a dog." He joked, jovially, with only the hint of hope in his tone. The man smirked at him, standing from his crouched position.

"Sure." He said, and his voice was the most perfect, most beautiful thing Harry had heard to this day. 

"I'm Harry." He offered, sticking his hand out. "What's your name?" The man took his hand in his own, lovely long, skeletal fingers wrapping around Harry's own. He was wearing rings, he realised. Piercing alluring grey eyes looked into Harry's green ones.

"Aidan." 

And from that point, they had become practically inseparable. Their coffee date that they had planned had turned into a full on date, and in the darkness of Harry's London apartment at two in the morning, fuelled on bottles of wine, they had performed the thirty six questions. 

And the truth was, they had both fallen in love with each other, inexpiably and perilously, without a second thought about it. There had been no need for a second date, a third or even a fourth one, because they were delaying the inevitable; they had both made up their minds. Harry was in an inescapable unlabelled abundance of emotions, emotions that could be called, despite their forms by one word: love. Aidan had fallen deep into a mess that grew deeper with each growing moment they spent together, but for him, it was like heroine. He couldn't bring himself to quit, because it was so happy, so perfect in those moments.

Then it had broken, but not gradually. It was like a beautiful crystal glass you had on display that someone accidently knocked. Aidan watched it tumble in slow motion to the floor, watched it shatter into a million pieces without being able to lift even a finger against it.

It was the twenty sixth of January when the crystal shattered. Everything had been perfect, or at least, it was if you blurred the edges. It was two am, and they were celebrating engagement. Of course, they had been told that they were rushing into it, to carry on dating and see where they ended up, but Harry had refused to listen, and at the time, he was exuberantly happy that he had. They were drinking champagne in their shared flat's kitchen, dancing around to whatever songs came across their old radio. It was crackly and old, but they both loved it, and Harry refused to throw it out, no matter what. 

Then the doorbell had rung. Both of them stopped mid spin, laughing, and slowing down. 

"I'll get it." Harry had said, taking a sip out of Aidan's glass. 

"Who the fuck is calling in this late?" He joked back, pushing himself up to sit on the island, swinging his legs idly and raising an eyebrow. Harry just shrugged back. He walked the short distance to the front door, for it wasn't a fantastically large flat, just rounded the corridor to get to the main entrance. He opened the door. Two men in suits and dark glasses greeted him with cold glares. Harry wasn't quite sure what was going on.

"Uh-" He started, but was cut off by the taller man. 

"We're looking for someone." He said. His voice was rough and gravelly, he meant buisness. Harry was close to either slamming the door in their face, or running into the flat's kitchen to tell Aidan about what was going on. 

"Um, ok?" It wasn't posed as a question, but it was a clear social signal of 'please go away now, it's two in the fucking morning' The smaller man had pulled out a photo. Harry's heart had dropped. It was a picture of Aidan, only he looked a bit younger, and he was wearing a suit, glowering unhappily at the camera. 

"His name's Draco Malfoy, and we need to know if you've seen him." The taller one seemed to do all of the talking. Harry's world was dissolving before his eyes. He must've stood like that for a while, because he was then prompted to speak again. "Have you?" 

"I-uh-yeah, I mean I've seen him around St. James' a couple times, but that's it." He lied through his teeth, but the men seemed exceptionally oblivious. They both nodded. The smaller one (though, it really wasn't by much, and both of them were taller than Harry) supplied him with a card bearing a number. 

"Please call this number if you see him again. Thank you." And with that, they disappeared from the door, heading down the landing. Harry shut the door in a state of shock, card still clutched tightly in his hand. He looked down at it. It appeared to be a buisness card, not only supplying a number. It was addressed by a man named 'Lucius Malfoy'. Harry wasn't sure what emotion possessed him more: anger, shock or the depression of being betrayed. The music had stopped, no longer floating dreamily from the kitchen. As he rounded the corner to enter, he saw Aidan beginning to tidy away the expensive champagne glasses. His hands were shaking though, and he dropped one, shards smashing at his feet. 

"Oh, fuck." He swore quietly. Harry noted that his voice was shaking almost as much as his hands. He finished rounding the corner and came into Aidan's view. His face snapped to Harry's, slightly manic, panicked, though it was clear he was trying to keep up a façade. "Oh Harry, darling, sorry about this, just dropped one of the glasses," His speech was rushed, and his smile was pulling to tightly at the corners of his lips. Harry was aware that his own expression was pulled into a sad frown, eyes narrowed in anger. "I'll clean it up, no need to be upset, see-" 

"Aidan." It was almost spat out. He flinched. Harry felt the sick feeling grow. Aidan was never submissive in fights, in any altercations. He had never flinched, not as if Harry had just slapped him. "Who were those men?" It was a dangerous tone, now that the shock was fading, he could get a tighter grip on his anger.

"I don't know darling, you were the one talking to them." His speech was even more rushed now, and it was clear he was panicked. He appeared to be desperately trying to clean up the champagne, averting any eyes away from his face so that they might watch his hands instead. Harry was fuming. 

"They said they were looking for someone by the name of Draco Malfoy, and they had a photo of you." He was glaring menacingly at Aidan now, in the feeble hopes that that would make him face Harry. 

"I don't know who they were, Harry. I'd tell you if I did, of course I would darling, but as it stands, I really don't know what you want me to do." His pace matched that of a caught rabbit. This was wrong. Aidan never acted like this, he used darling as a word he would roll off the tongue in a charmingly posh drawl, not at all in a rushed panic, as if it were the only thing keeping Harry's pure malice off him. Harry hated it. He started to shout. 

"Who are you?!" He yelled, and Aidan looked stricken, mouth parted slightly, and as close as Harry had ever seen him to tears. Harry had never seen Aidan cry. It was as unnerving as it was infuriating. 

"I'm Aidan, darling! I'm-I'm you fiancé! Who else would I be?" The ghost of a faked smile kept flitting across his face, but he couldn't seem to kept it there, it kept falling off as though it were the wrong size, on the wrong person. Harry saw red. Aidan tried to walked toward him, but Harry back-peddled, which only seemed to upset him more, his breath coming out in heaving pants, the same one would do on the verge of tears. Something crunched.

"Those people beg to fucking differ!" He screamed, and now he didn't even care if others could hear them. 

"No no no no no no no," Aidan rushed, bringing his hands up. "They were wrong! It's not me they're after!" It was a blatant lie, and both of them knew it.

"I'm giving you the chance to explain yourself." He stated, crossing his arms in seething anger. Aidan shook his head frantically.

"I don't know who they were, darling! I promise!" He sounded like he was begging. He walked forwards more, and that was when Harry realised what was making the crunching sound. Aidan hadn't picked up the chattered champagne and he wasn't wearing socks. Blood was sweeping over the tiled floor. Harry hadn't the energy or the mental capacity to deal with it.

"Clean this up." He spat, turning sharply. "Sleep in the second bedroom." This seemed to steel Aidan. Harry couldn't hear the rushed, heaving breaths anymore, though he continued to hear crunching, the altercations of crystal against skin.

Neither of them slept well that night. 

Aidan woke to the smell of after dawn, the sight of weak January sun streaming through patched curtains. His feet ached as he pressed down on them, but he had wrapped them well enough that none of the blood leaked out. He checked the old clock mounted on the wall. Ten thirty, it read. He padded softly through to the living room, and a manic fear gripped his chest, knocking the wind out of him. 

Half of the carefully placed items in the flat were missing. He ran to the bedroom door, bursting through it, half ready to explain everything to Harry if he were only there. Tears spilled from his eyes weakly. He wasn't there. He stormed the kitchen next. Lying on the kitchen counter was a note, a buisness card, and a ring.

His father's buisness card.

His fiancés engagement ring

A note reading 'Keep it.'

An empty flat.

Draco had been many things for many people, too many things to list. But now, now as his world shattered around him, he was allowed to be selfish. He took a single glass out of the top cupboard an hurled it with all his might at the wall, screaming. He then felt his knees buckle, and he screamed and cried into his hoodie to the sound of raining glass.


	2. a way of saying, it's only a memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we dive into their first week apart! If you are so far enjoying the story, or think that there are things I can improve on, please do leave a comment because I love reading your thoughts!
> 
> Next time we will start on the first song of the musical: 'Hear Me Out.'

That first week they had spent apart had looked very different for each of them.

Harry, upon hiding in their joint bedroom had done really the only thing he could have done. He made a decision and cried about, silent choked sobs hidden to the world by a pillow upon which he pressed his face. It was around two twenty am, and he felt ridiculous and stupid, because how-how had he fallen for it? No-one perfect just arrives on a silver fucking platter, there's always a catch.

But he couldn't stop thinking of the feral panic in Aiden's- (His name, Harry reminded himself, was Draco. It always had been.) eyes. His decision had been made though, and he wasn't straying from it now. Harry Potter was impossible to sway once he had his mind made up.

He packed quickly, quietly and thoroughly. It made his insides bitter as he thought of Draco teaching him how to pack correctly, chastising him and laughing. He packed only what he needed, what he would miss, and took whatever personal touches he could.

The only personal touches that he did in fact leave behind were the pictures of him and Draco, even the ones he treasured. The glass holding one of the picture in felt cool beneath his fingers, a familiar sensation. It was a relatively new one, a picture of the pair of them at Christmas taken by Remus. Harry was laughing and fiddling with the strap of a bracelet he had gotten for Draco, who was looking at Harry in the photo like he was his world. A couple stray tears escaped and ran wetly down his cheeks which he hastened to wipe away.

Once he was fully packed in the room, there were only six steps he had to take to leave. One: open the safe, take the bank details. Two: open the bedroom door. Three: take whatever was needed from the rest of the flat. Four: leave his ring and a note. Five: open the front door. Six: shut the front door.

They were six simple steps, and yet he couldn't seem to get past the first one, because when he opened the safe that neither of them ever used, save for storing bank details and passports, he found a note and a jewellery box. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he carefully unwrapped the note.

_My dearest Harry,_

_My many congratulations on your engagement! I can tell you from exceedingly reliable sources that the man you have proposed to is so in love with you that it almost hurts. (I tell a lie, it feels great, though I really do love you, darling.)_

_I was unsure of what to give you in return for my beautiful ring, and could only really think of a couple things. Number one was a love poem, but they're so overrated and if I were to give you one, I would have to look like a proper tortured romantic poet with a large glass of red wine. Number two was throw a party, but that was also ruled out, I'm sure you know why. Number three is this: a dedicated list of wedding ideas, guest lists, venues, receptions, French tailors for you to consider. Thought it might take a bit of the stress off._

_Your loving fiancé,_

_Aidan (Potter) Baskerville._

Harry began to cry again, because true to the note, in the jewellery box were many small slips of paper with writing on them. He picked one up.

_The Ritz (************) - a lovely reception, but a little on the expensive side. Booking details on flip side._

They had joked many times since the engagement on details, all of which had sounded like meaningless apparitions in the air of love, but here they all were, carefully written down in what Harry was sure to be Draco's finest calligraphy. He put the box and note away, still weeping softly, and opened the bedroom door.

Took some personal touches.

Left a note for Draco alongside his ring. It wasn't a long.

Opened the front door. Looked back.

Closed the back door. Focused on the hallway in front of him.

Got in his car and drove away.

Harry drove to his parent's house, because, well, where else was there to go? He pulled up outside there door, and for a while, he just sat there in his car and cried some more in the vain hope of trying to get himself together. He hugged the steering wheel and sobbed.

After a while, he gathered his fragile pieces together in a somewhat put together image, and strode up to the door, ringing the bell once he was within range. From one of the bedrooms he heard movement and noise, which was mainly his dad asking who the fuck was going to call in at four in the morning. There was also stirring from one of the spare rooms, mingled voices that he knew to be Remus and Sirius also announcing their annoyances loudly.

The door opened to his dad wearing a dressing gown and bleary look, his mum behind him accompanied by his Godfather's.

"Harry?" His dad asked

"Love, what's wrong? Where's Aidan?" His mum asked, pushing forward slightly, looking far more awake than his dad, and then he was a twenty two year old crying into his mother's arms as she gently rubbed his back. "Harry, what's happened?" Her voice was quiet and soothing, and none of the men looked like they really know what to do. Harry wasn't sure what to do either.

"He- he was lying," He sobbed, voice breaking helplessly as he did so.

"About what, sweetie?" She took his shoulders in her hands so he was looking into her eyes. Harry would have thought this almost comical had he not just dumped his fiance a couple hours earlier, because the three men had stuck their heads so that they were craning to see him from behind Lily's.#

"About everything. His name isn't Aidan it's-it's Draco, I think. Draco Malfoy."

"Suck a dick!" Sirius shouted, looking at James and Remus. "I always said he looked like that git Lucius. Ah Harry, I'm so sorry mate, all Malfoy's are fucking awful."

"Sirius!" Lily scolded, seeing Harry's distress. "Watch your mouth. Oh come in, love, I'll make you hot chocolate."

Which was how Harry found himself sitting on his parents old sofa at four am whilst his Godfathers argued over his ex fiancé's git levels. Lily told them that it was all quite unnecessary, but only Remus tried to stop talking about it. Sirius kept on rambling about how much of a dick Lucius Malfoy was, not really caring (or just really oblivious) to Harry's growing upset.

He spent the next two weeks at their house, with Remus and Sirius staying with them, despite how short a walk it was to their own house. When he had tried to broach the topic he was met with the response that it was simply 'like being back at school'. Hermione and Ron had come to see him, to check up on how he was, same as Ginny and even Luna, who came with a bizarrely shaped basket and Neville. It was, without the depression of betrayal, almost nice, and he found himself relaxing into he slow comfort that was his support circle.

Draco had spent the first week trying not to get sepsis. It really had been a bad fucking idea to walk across literal broken glass to get to Harry. A bit of an oversight, he told himself. He forgot to eat most of the time, and when he did, it was very little. Mostly, he just spent hours ghosting around the empty grounds of the small flat, which was, for the first time since they had purchased it, void of love. Harry had taken the bank details, he knew that because the safe was open. He had also read the note, opened the box, and once Draco had realised that, he'd left the house for the first time since Harry had left.

He didn't go far, for much, per se. He just slipped back into old habits, accidently. He knew, incidentally, where to go, what to buy, and had the money. He clutched his pocket. Heroine. He'd taken it before, on numerous occasions. Never with Harry, though.

Slipping back into the flat was an awkward affair, because he panicked on the doorstep and couldn't quite get the door open, couldn't figure out the key. He slid down the back of door once he was inside, dry heaving sobs wracking his body. He shook himself off and stood up, entering the bathroom and making eye contact with the man in the mirror. He looked like shit.

"You have beautiful eyes" He remembered Harry telling him, so many times, over and over, but this time they were lying on the floor amongst wine bottles and glasses. His pupils were so dilated now that he could barely see the colour, just a ring of grey against a sea of black.

He probably would have cried, but he was high and ignorant to the feelings of depression. That's why he loved it, see.

Laughter filled the flat again, but it sounded wrong. Like someone had scratched a record but was playing it anyway because there was nothing else to play. There was a slamming knock against the front door. Draco, deep in the recess of his psyche, knew who it was, seemingly the only area of his brain not affected by the drugs. There was an empty syringe in his hand.

He ignored the knock. He seated himself in kitchen, becuase in the inexplicable way that all drugs seemed to work for him, he wanted to see the damage. To see the blood. Any blood, really. He wasn't particularly fussed. Unwrapping the bandages seemed only to satisfy himself, because with the peeling of the white came the dripping of the red.

Someone was laughing at him. That someone appeared to him in his drug infested mind as Pansy Parkinson, seated on a counter top. He knew what she was laughing at, so he eyed her back, like a cat. He looked a fucking mess, sitting on the floor of his shared flat's kitchen with bleeding feet, bloody hands, an empty syringe, wearing nothing but a long silk robe and a pair of Harry's old tracksuit bottoms that came up to above his ankles.

Not worthy of either of his names.

The banging noise increased. Increased? Draco hadn't realised they had been continuously knocking. Fucking rude. He strode over to the door leaving bloody footprints in his wake and threw open the door.

"What the fuck is it." But his voice came out weird, not flat, like the laugh was, broken but still playing. The two men who were inevitably stood outside it side stepped. Despite the fact that he was high off his ass, this thought alone was enough to almost sober him. The syringe shattered at his feet.

"Draco Lucius Malfoy." His father said. Draco blinked. It was the dangerous tone, the tone before bad things happened. "You took some finding, my loyal son." It was spat, and he was sure that his father was the only man in the world who could make the word 'son' sound like 'you fucking disappointment. I wish I could hit you.' Draco served no God, but a merciful one had surely been looking down on him.

"Draco," It was his mother's voice. She looked like she was halfway through the stages of grief and shock.

"Mother, I-" But he was far too high to have this conversation. He looked away, but as he did, he saw his father pick up a picture. Now Draco was by no means an idiot, quite the opposite really, but this had really been a major forthcoming of himself.

"What's this now?" He asked predatorially, holding the picture at such an angle that Draco and Narcissa might too be able to see it. It was Draco's elected favourite picture of him and Harry, again, taken by Lily. They were standing on an icing rink in Somerset, faces so close that a hair of movement might've made them kissing, gazing into one an others eyes and smiling. Lucius saw the small frown that creased Draco's brow. He dropped the picture, shattering it. "I was told that this flat was owned by a Mr. Harry Potter, but, of course, that's not you, is it? It's the boy in the picture, or so I would hazard a guess."

"Sir, the press." One of the men said, walking into the flat. Draco wanted to slap both of them hard for ruining his fucking life. Lucius glared at him, and then at Draco.

"You're crying." He told Draco, who then, stupidly, felt for tears on his face. "No." Lucius said sharply, looking very much like he could shoot Draco in the ribs and be a happier man. "Cry. Narcissa, won't you be a good mother and comfort him?"

And so the path of action had been paved. All the papers, the internet, would know is that the incredibly rich carriers of the Malfoy name had found their son crying in a small flat in London, upon seeing which, they had immediately taken him home, comforting him whilst he cried into their arms. If Draco weren't as fearful for torture or had more foresight whilst not being high, he probably would have made himself be dragged, kicking and screaming.

Lucius Malfoy, however, always got his way, and Draco wasn't going to stand in the way of that, lest he become an obstacle himself.


	3. the truth is all about you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could it be? But it is! My complete ignorance towards the Slytherins, despite the fact that they're basically Draco's backbone in this fic! 
> 
> Supposedly, this timeline was a little different in my drafts and a lot more like the musicals timeline, but I had to change it so that the songs make sense in the sense in the fact that in the musical, Jace (Represented by Harry in the fic) is very fast to let Judith (Represented by Draco) into his house and let her explain herself. This way I thought it would better stretch out the story, and have more of Harry's personality coming through, because Harry is no where near as trusting as Jace, lol. (It's totally ok if you've never seen the musical and don't understand this, it will all be gone through in time.)
> 
> Very sorry at the lateness of this fic, I have not had ONE fucking lie in all week, becuase this is the busiest I've been in ages, and my brother is having a few problems, so please do bear with me. (currently I am writing this at eleven thirty having gotten three hours of sleep. Rip my non-existent mental health.)
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading, and please do leave a comment if there is anything you particularly liked/disliked, or just because, because I absolutely love reading comments and tbh I need a little love right now lmao!

Draco was a man who, more often than not, got what he wanted. It was in his personality, in his blood, for he had been bred in a certain way that let his capabilities fall outside of taking no for an answer. Still, throughout his still somewhat short life, he had been told 'no' numerous times, too many to count, but the more significant ones were easy to recall in plain sight.

'No.' When he had asked his father if he was allowed to play with the other children, who, at the time, looked like a lot of fun. This was really only memorable becuase those children had happened to be a part of the group called 'The Snakes', and who grew up to be Draco's best friends.

'No.' When he had asked his mother to run away with him, tears streaming. She had sat perfectly still and unmoving on the bed, completely ignoring him. It was the only time she had ever ignored him, and in his sour bitterness, he ran away alone. Didn't get far.

'No.' When he had begged his father to stop torturing him. It wasn't fun.

'No.' When he had asked Pansy for a marriage of convenience. She looked so melancholic that she promised him the world and Draco retracted his request. He didn't ever ask again.

And the last one, which wasn't even a direct 'no'.

'No.' When Harry had found out who he really was, what he really meant. It hurt the most, though he knew that theoretically it shouldn't have.

He hadn't been dragged kicking and screaming to the manor, but he certainly wasn't here on intended buisness. Draco treated it in his own mind like his own kidnapping. He had been kidnapped, once or twice, roughed up little and ransomed back to his parents. They never paid the money because, of course, they had raised Draco to be a fighter, to be a winner, and if he couldn't even get himself out of a small kidnapping situation, what kind of person would he even grow up to be?

Ought he just to have said 'No.' himself? He doubted that was even an option, doubted it was contusive for his survival, and really, didn't he have to survive? He didn't really want to survive. Dying seemed to be the much more simple solution. (He had, unfortunately, sworn off dying if he could help it. Goodbye peace, he thought.)

The beating hadn't been as bad as he originally thought it would be, for, he had run away for over six months with a sizeable portion of money. Politics, Draco guessed. Must be something coming up.

He wanted to see Harry. It was a desire so bad that he could almost feel it eating away at him as he lay on the grass beside the lake. It was freezing, but he felt fine. He thought he felt fine He was quite numb, in fairness. Breath steamed up in front of his eyes as he exhaled, long curling mists that pooled into the air around him. The same was happening to the lake, because it was a cold morning and the sun was barely out. The grass crunched beneath him as he shifted to roll to his side.

It was pretty down here, a serene escape that he had often utilised in times of need and desperate longing to get away from the house, though, he had nothing to shield himself with down here, only the huge expanse of a black lake. The grass kept crunching, getting louder and louder until somewhere in his mind he realised that there was someone walking towards him.

He counted his lucky stars and prayed it not be his father.

"Draco," It was his mother's voice, hard and concerned as it always was. His muscles relaxed and he sat up, turning his head so that he might see her. "What are you doing out here? It's cold." It was a finalised point, stated less as question and more of a sign that she was concerned for his safety and that they should head back inside.

"I'm quite fine, mother. I was just marvelling at the lake. It's quite pretty in the mornings, isn't it?" His mother's frown was so deep and sorrowful that he had to look away.

"Why did you run away?" She asked. It was the third time she had asked the question. Not since he arrived back at the manor, but for the third time in his life. Once when he was ten, anther when he was fifteen and now again and he was twenty two. He was pathetic. But, he was older now and his mother knew him more. The cold of the air and the biting of the frost gave him numbness, subdued his emotions.

"I don't like it here." He said, very simply. Narcissa refused to sit down. "This place, I don't like it."

"You've always loved the manor and the grounds." Narcissa said quietly, as if she were doubting her entire view on Draco.

"And I always will. I don't like the feeling, mother. I don't like the people." He didn't look at her, kept his eyes steady and trained on the lake. She made a small sound that he didn't dare pretend he heard. She sat down beside him delicately.

"Do you not like me?" And then he did turn to her, his mother, the one who had kept him alive. She looked so sad, so miserably like Draco had remembered his own reflection looking like at the age of five when his father had first hit him. The bruises ached, and he suddenly thought about whether or not he did like Narcissa.

"I love you, mother." He said. But you did not have to like someone to love them. Her frown deepened, and she looked maddeningly close to tears. "I like you, as well, of course. I just- I'm tired." She gazed at him sorrowfully. "I'm tired of the pain, mother. I'm tired of acting like the perfect fucking child all the time, because that's what father wants, I'm tired of being hit, of being tortured, of being told that the only reason I'll ever amount to something is because I'm being trained to be a fucking Malfoy, I'm tired of trying to fucking kill myself in the hopes that maybe, _maybe that's the fucking answer_ -"He was cut off because his mother was hugging him. He panted into the frosted air, arms hanging lame by his sides. She was weeping, he realised. His mother never showed off signs of any human emotion. Not usually.

Suddenly it was a week earlier and he was holding himself steady in the shards of glass. His feet hurt. He moaned and wept, but no one heard him. He fancied no one ever properly would.

The grip around his ribs grew tighter, harder to breathe in, but as the memory faded more so and he was left with the present, he realised it was less because of the tight hold on him, and more to the fact he was about halfway between crying and panicking, but either way, he just couldn't breathe.

He wrestled his way out of Narcissa's arms, despite her noises of shock and disapproving melancholy. He stumbled to his feet, one arm wrapped around his middle and the other clutching at his collarbone and the base of his neck. He gasped and choked, but then he missed his footing and stumbled back so far that he slipped and fell backwards into the lake.

It wasn't deep near the banks and bore only gentle ripples when the wind died down, only came up to his knees when he was upstanding, and as he lay backwards on his elbows, the water barely reached high enough on his chest to be a worry. Narcissa ran over, almost refusing to run in after him, but gathered up the long skirt of her dress and ran in. She needn't have tried, because the cold water and the shock somehow seemed to align his mind and body. He could breath again.

"Draco, darling!" Narcissa cried desperately. "Are you alright?!" He looked up at her with wonderous grey eyes, sharp and narrow. Then he laughed. He couldn't help it, it was just so bizarre. His mother was kneeling in a freezing lake he had just fallen into by means of his own stupidity, and she had the gall to be worried about him. He laughed harder and harder, but no shortness of breath stopped him. Narcissa looked wonderfully concerned.

"I'm quite fine, mother." he managed between choking fits of laughter, though he didn't quite feel out of breath. He didn't know what he felt.

She escorted him back to the house where they were promptly fussed over by the servants and slighted by Lucius who thought it was rather undignified to come back in such states. Draco lay on the bed, head lolling dangerously close to sleep. A knock on his parlour door stirred him from his not quite slumber.

"It's Narcissa." The voice called. Draco let his eyes close again. At least he was lying the right way on the bed this time.

"I'm in the bedroom, the doors are open." He called back, though it carried more in the tone of a murmur. She emerged seconds later wearing a new dress and still damp hair, albeit immaculate.

"I've been thinking." She said, carefully, as though it might not be the right thing to say. "About that man your father spoke to you about. The man you shared a flat with?" She must've seen his change in posture, because her approach got softer, kinder. More careful, he thought. "I can take you to see him."

Draco's eyes flew open.

"What?" He asked. His eyes must have looked wild.

"Well, I'm sure you wanted to see him, you looked so upset leaving the flat, and when Lucius smashed the picture." Draco sighed, miserably melancholic.

"No mother, I think it best that you don't interfere." He said.

"I could drive you to the flat again."

"He won't be there." Narcissa looked at him softly.

"Oh. Is that-" An arm extended to touch his shoulder.

"Hold on, hold on." He drawled. "Are we going to skip past the me being gay thing? Is that not a big deal?" Narcissa looked whimsically disturbed, if it were at all possible. Draco laughed again. "What, did you think we were just sharing a flat as pals?"

"No I- I've just never heard you say it." Narcissa looked all but defeated. It wasn't as though Draco was opposed to liking women, he just never really had the chance. Unbeknownst to his parents, he had been raised amongst lesbians.

"Well, there you are. Mother, I'm gay." She looked like she was trying to accept it, she really did, but she turned her head away.

"I can't say that I agree Draco," She eventually said, turning her head to meet Draco's eyes. "But I'll never stop loving you darling. My offer still stands." Draco's hands covered his face, feathering over it gently.

"Please take me there."

It wasn't had to convince Lucius to let them out. Narcissa's powers of persuasion had never looked so good, and Draco wasn't sure if he'd ever properly appreciated it, the way she could control him, talk around him.

They were supposed to be going shopping, and, as it turned out, there was another 'political' dinner that the three of them would be attending, the perfect time placement for it. They drove in silence through the brightening day, through the bustle of the London traffic and the stress that Narcissa was clearly not coping well with. Familiar scenery came into view.

"You can drop me here, thank you mother. I'll call you a bit later, alright?" Narcissa turned to look at him, a small frown creasing her forehead.

"If you're sure, darling." She said gently. "I'll be around. How about the Ritz for afternoon tea?" She asked. His shoulders drooped.

"I'm not sure mother, but I'll call you to confirm." He nodded and stepped out of the car. He always saw her as steady and constant. He now saw her as she had really been all along. A melancholic mother with a son who barely met up to any of his father's expectations, trying to keep herself afloat.

He strode on through St. James' Park becuase, well, he'd asked to be taken in. Taken an offer, really, but he didn't bother differentiate. The February sun did nothing to warm either his soul or his face, dappling light that only seemed as effective as he could let himself venture. He leant on the fence between the path and the lake and stared gloomily at a black swan who seemed to be doing better in the available light.

Steps echoed around him, couples, singles, runners, families. It was all so loud. He pushed the panic to the back of his mind and steeled himself against emotions he had convinced himself that he simply didn't have the capacity to feel.

"Aid- Draco?" A voice from behind him asked. It sounded a weird mix of pleasantly surprised, confused and mildly disappointed. Lily. He spun around, clutching at the fence and pressing himself against it. "What are you doing here?" Fight or flight responses normally kicked in around this point, and for Draco it was usually fight. He bit the down the urge to tell her that he was allowed to go wherever he pleased.

"Just walking." He said, marvelling at the way his voice didn't shake or quiver. He looked as haughty as he could, but it was hard when the person he was giving it too looked so pitying and had only ever given him kind memories and gentle thoughts.

"I was right, wasn't I? It is Draco?" She asked, clearly doubting either her pronunciation or Harry's version of the story.

"Yes." He said quietly.

"Why?" She asked, and suddenly he had her hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek. He thought of Narcissa, thought of the way she only showed affection that he craved when Draco talked about killing himself, which is somehow how the following sentence fell out of his mouth.

"I wish you were my mother." He said it with full conviction, and couldn't even bring himself to tell himself that it wasn't true. He really wished that she were.

"Oh, Draco." She said, manoeuvring them so that they were instead facing the lake, not facing each other. "What happened? Harry's still... A bit put out. He won't tell us anything beyond, well, the basics."

And so Draco explained as eloquently as he could on the edge of a panic. He told her about the two men visiting them in the middle of the night as they celebrated, told her about how when he woke up, Harry had already packed and left. How he spent the next week barely existing in the flat. He told her, eventually, about getting high and watching his blood pour. About being taken by his parents. The more modest version, of course. She didn't need to know that Lucius Malfoy was that vile. Only the basics.

"Oh honey," She said rubbing his back as he looked wistfully at the ground. "He just feels betrayed. Listen, I can tell you where he is, if you want to make up with him." She offered, turning to face him with a smile. Draco couldn't stop himself. He wrapped his arms around her a held tightly. It wasn't for a while that he realised he was crying. She murmered quiet words of comfort into his ears as he sobbed. "You know," She laughed. "This is the second twenty two year old I've had crying in my arms in two weeks." For a brief, stupid second, Draco was absolutely stumped.

"Oh." He said. "Harry." She nodded, smiling in that slightly sad way. She took a small notebook from her pocket and ripped out a page and wrote down an address.

"You'll find him here." She said, handing the note to him. Draco tried to regard it with as little interest as possible, but he only achieved looking at with the longing of all the Kings of Greece looked at Helen.

"I suppose I'll go and pay him a visit, then."


End file.
